


Babysat by Uncle Tony

by s0ul



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Babysitting, F/M, Family, Gen, Humor, Norse Mythology - Freeform, PTSD, Post-Avengers, Pre-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Iron Man 3, Pre-Thor: The Dark World, Psychological issues, Reader-Insert, Stark-blooded, Tony Stark is the worst babysitter, Tony Stark is your uncle, unisex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4170879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s0ul/pseuds/s0ul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Avengers. Pre-Iron Man 3. Unisex reader-insert.</p><p>With your parents going away, you have to be babysat. And guess who's the only one available?</p><p>• • • </p><p>"I--I'm supposed to be staying with him for two weeks?"</p><p>She nodded. "With your Aunt Pepper as well."</p><p>"But--"</p><p>"No but's," cut in. your father. "Maybe at the end of it all, you'll finally be a Stark." </p><p>• • • </p><p>Or dead. You could be dead.</p><p>Let's see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. zero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the past.

The birthday party was set at the backyard of your house. But it reached even the front yard, the entire area overwhelming with guests both invited and not.

And then - a shriek, piercing through the chatter of the crowd and the loud music: " _Oh my god_! It's - it's _Tony Stark_!"

From your position at the back of the yard, surrounded by a few of your friends, you swivelled your head to the source, just as - all shushed, and _he_ entered. He sported a sharp and fancy suit, all white with a dim shade of blue - plus, his signature sunglasses.

Behind him trailed a woman with kind but prim features, freckles scattered around her cheeks. A handful of her strawberry blonde locks were pulled back and tied, as most of it cascaded down the back of her neck. She looked a lot more professional in her black pantsuit than Tony Stark, himself. But it was evident that her rank was below his.

Your eyes were wide and big; jaw dropped, and knees shaky. _Tony Stark_ , you thought. _Tony Stark is in_ my _birthday party._

The few friends surrounding you had dispersed, and you approached. But practically all of the guests were crowding around him, trying to get as close to him as possible. It was actually _impossible_ , and your below-than-average-height-for-a-now-ten-year-old offered nothing helpful.

Irritated, you simply walked towards the nearby platform - the stage - and sat on it, opting to wait it out.

Even after several minutes, nothing changed. People were still surrounding him (some of which appeared to be his disguised bodyguards, as you've noticed), and he was still taking pictures, and signing autographs, and giving people hugs, and giving kids kisses, and doing that signature peace-sign, no matter where he was in the backyard, while his assistant followed silently, and at times, attempted to do some crowd control.

Elbow propped up on your knee, and chin on your hand, you sat and watched and waited - until you noticed, that the strawberry blonde wasn't beside him anymore. You frowned, confused, scanning the crowd for her, just as - "Hi."

Surprised, you turned to the source of the voice, and found yourself face-to-face with the very woman you were looking for. Even up close, you could sense the professional aura, with her poise and posture. But it was tinted with a sense of casualness that reduced the strain in interacting with her.

"Um, hi," you said, straightening a bit in your seat.

She asked if you were your father's child, mentioning your name.

You blinked in surprise. _She knows me_ , you thought, as you slowly nodded in response to her query. "And you are?"

"Pepper Potts," she said, reaching out a hand. "Your uncle's personal assistant."

 _Your uncle_. That gave you a bit of a jolt. No one has referred him to that, even yourself. But you still took her hand, giving it a firm shake and acting all professional as well.

She smiled at this, but grew serious as she lowered her arm. "Are you okay?"

Now you didn't even try to mask your surprise. "Um," you said, a bit unsure of what to say exactly. You decided with, "I'm fine, thank you."

She arched a doubtful brow. "That doesn't sound so convincing."

You said nothing, wondering why she'd care. A beat later, you decided to voice this.

"Why wouldn't I?" she said, sincerity evident in her tone. "You're the birthday kid today. You're the one who should be being crowded over." She gestured to the people surrounding your uncle. "Not to that extent, however."

You smiled, amused, but opted to say nothing.

She shook her head, a faint smile on her own lips. "You look alike, you know."

Brows raised, you said, "Pardon?"

"Mr. Stark, and you," she said. "The resemblance is - incredible."

"Oh." You shrugged, flattered. "I get that a lot."

"I'm sure you do," she said, nodding. "I'm sure you're pretty smart as well."

Your heart jumped to your throat, thinking about your parents. They might disagree on that. But you nodded back, smile tightening. "Thank you." Your gaze shifted to Tony Stark, watching as a guy requested to take a picture with him.

"Hey," she said, voice soft and tone gentle. "I know Mr. Stark is--" She gestured to the said man, still doing the peace sign as he and the guy took a picture together. "Well. We all know what he is."

Your lips relaxed, the smile more natural.

"But, don't worry," she simply went on. "We'll be out of your hair soon. Just have some fun."

And then - "Time for cake!"

Turning your head to the source, you saw your father grinning, holding a microphone as he stood on the same platform now. In front of him was a table, where a two-layered cake of your favorite color and flavor was set.

Delighted, you grinned at him and rose, just as you glanced over in front of you, but to find Pepper Potts not there. You frowned, _how can she keep disappearing?_

You turned to Tony Stark, instantly noting the strawberry blonde next to him. _There she is._

For a moment, Tony Stark didn't seem to have noticed your father's call - so, most of everyone stayed around him - until Miss Potts gently took his elbow, and whispered something. He looked up, his gaze sweeping to the cake, your dad and then - you.

You caught a breath, the noise drowning out as your eyes connected with his - well, shades. You couldn't exactly see his eyes, those sunglasses simply reflecting your own. On them, you looked like a child at awe.

He was approaching the platform now, Miss Potts and the crowd following suit, and stepped onto it. The crowd hung back, everyone settling as audience in front of the stage. Miss Potts stayed at the side, watching with her features tight and serious. But she caught you staring, and they relaxed for her lips to curl into a tiny smile.

Embarrassed, you offered a sheepish smile, before shifting your gaze to Tony Stark, now holding the microphone and just thanking your father for handing it over to him.

"Thanks, Mr. Stark," Tony said, evoking laughter from the audience. It tugged a smile on your own lips. "Well, a bigger and _wider_ Mr. Stark," he added, and the laughter was louder, and your smile was weaker.

You glanced over to your father, whose face was red, flustered.

"Now, where's the birthday kid?" Tony said, scanning the crowd, before his eyes - rather, _sunglasses_ landed on you. "There you are! C'mere." He gestured with his hand for you to approach, and you obeyed, stepping onto the stage with shaky legs and a rapidly beating heart.

Soon, you stood just beside him, and he loomed over you, taller than you expected.

"Hey kid," he said, looking down at you.

"Hi," you said, soft and shy.

"How old are you?" he asked, shifting the microphone to you.

"I'm ten now."

"Ten?" he said, brows arched in surprise. "Are you sure you aren't seven?" This generated its expected response: laughter and giggles.

You weren't laughing. The heat in your cheeks made sure of that. But you tried not to frown deeper. "Yes, I'm sure," you said when the microphone was handed over to you.

"Well, all right. Whatever helps you sleep at night." More laughter. And then, he was crouching in front of you, so your gazes levelled. "Do you know why I'm here? Why I actually gave time off my very hectic schedule for a little kid like you?"

Now, you were kind of hoping he wasn't. But you shrugged instead.

"Well, your dad actually called me about your upcoming birthday, and wanted to invite me as a guest - or party-crasher, whichever you prefer - and as a surprise for you.

"We all know I'm very much a busy man, but I agreed to do it. We're family; I can't miss my nibling's own tenth birthday party. Plus, I heard you weren't doing really well. And being the best Stark there is, I have to do a quick check-up, see what's wrong."

You froze, chest tightening, as people covered their mouths, laughing, while some gave little care, barking their joy high into the air. Breathing grew to be a labored task.

"And from the data I've gathered," he said, pausing to scan you intently from head to toe. "There is definitely something wrong." He nodded to emphasize. "I mean, c'mon, kid - B minuses? That's the _best_ you can do? Have you built anything, invented anything?"

You meekly shook your head.

He clicked his tongue, lips in a firm line. "I was four when I built a circuit board, seven when I built an engine. Your dad - my cousin back there -" he gestured over his shoulder. He opened his mouth to go on, but then shut it at his lack of knowledge in the life of your father. "Well, I'm sure you know what he's done. And he's probably done a lot more than you, even at your age." His features were folded, (uncharacteristically) grim.

"So - my nibling. The great Stark junior. Probably around four feet and five inches tall. Very, well, _average_." He paused, as he considered you entirely once more. "You have the blood of the Stark, kid. But you have to earn its name. And right now, you sure as hell aren't."

The audience - apparently dazed, and somehow finding this touching - was applauding, several of them squealing _I love you, Tony!_ Rising from his crouching position, he bowed to them, before patting you on the head, and said, "So, happy tenth birthday, uh, um-"

You reminded him of your name, but he didn't seem to have caught it.

"A! Happy tenth birthday, _A_!" he said, grinning and composing his nearly flustered state. "That's my nickname for you," he said. "Because you're such an, uh, _ay_ -okay kid."

And the people cheered, Tony Stark leaving the stage and going over to stand next to Miss Potts, just as your father commenced the Happy Birthday song. 

By the time you blew the candles, he was gone.

Most of the guests left too.


	2. one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the beginning.

 

> _Are you good enough to be a Stark,_ A _?_

"We're going away for a few weeks," your father announced, stabbing a piece of fried chicken on his plate and shoving it into his mouth. The loud chewing commenced.

You looked up from your side of the dining table, brows raised and your own chewing paused. "We?"

"Yes," he said, not meeting your gaze. You've grown used to it by now. "Your mother and I."

 _Clang_ went your dropped spoon and fork, as they hit your plate. Your eyes shifted to your mother. She wasn't looking at you, focused on her plate, eating. "To where?"

"Los Angeles," your mother said. "For two weeks. We'll be leaving this Sunday."

" _Two weeks?_ This Sunday -- that's two days from now! What --  _why_?"

"Business trip," your father said. "I got a promotion at work last week, and I was called to attend a few meetings for a project there, help them out."

Brows nearing your hairline, you scoffed.  _You got a_ promotion _? Well, thank you,_ both of you _, for informing your_ only child _that_ now _,_ you thought. But instead, you said, tone flat, "Congratulations, Dad."

He merely grunted.

"What about Mom?" You turned to look at her. "Aren't you--"

"She's my assistant. She needs to come with me," your father said.

You sent him a glare, before returning to the consumption of your food.  _Clang, cling, clang_. The treatment on your utensils, as well as the dish, wasn't kind now. "And why can't I come?"

"It's work, A. We can't take care of you while working," he said. "And your classes start next week."

"So, where am I supposed to stay?"

"Here. In New York."

"I've already called your Aunt Pepper." Your mother spoke up, now meeting your gaze. Her eyes glinted, tender and sad. "You'll be staying at their place while we're gone."

Your eyes widened. Hands growing limp, your spoon and fork fell to the plate, with an even louder  _clang_ , echoing in the silent dining room. " _Their_  place? You mean -- I-I'm supposed to be staying w-with  _him_ for  _two weeks_?"

She nodded. "With your Aunt Pepper as well."

Noticing the dryness of your throat, you swallowed some saliva, uneasy. An image of your uncle, looming over you, popped in your mind. Towering, with his shadow, dark and heavy on your weak, little limbs. Even the presence of your favorite aunt did nothing to comfort you.

Closing your eyes, you dismissed the image away, and opening them, faced your mom. "Isn't there anyone else--"

She was already shaking her head.

"Well -- then, it's unnecessary, Mom," you said, smiling sheepishly. "Really. I don't need a babysitter. I'm  _seventeen_. I can take care of myself, in this house,  _alone_. I'll be fine--"

Your father scoffed across you, just as he sliced a piece from the fried chicken in half. "I'll believe that if you start acting like a  _Stark_ , with grades that weren't always B minuses and C's."

One of the fingers of the hand on your lap twitched, itching to curl into a fist. But you said nothing, only laying your palm flat on your knee, eyes on your plate and lips pressed together.

You heard the screech of his chair as it was pushed back. He stood and proceeded to the kitchen sink behind you.  _Clang_ went his dropped plate against the silver sink, and  _squeak_ went the faucet being twisted open. The rushing water was muffled by the rubbing of hands underneath it.

"No more but's, A," he said, voice clear and final.  _Squeak_. The sound of rushing water ceased. "You're staying at your uncle's. That's it." His footsteps were heavy, growing softer as they receded into the living room. "Maybe at the end of it all, you'll finally be a Stark."

You clenched your teeth, both hands now fists.

Standing up and dumping your plate in the kitchen sink, you muttered your excuse about being too full to eat to your mother, before dashing out and seeking the comfort of your room.

* * *

"Everything ready, JARVIS?" Tony asked the empty room, as disorganized as his basement in his mansion at Malibu. This was an entire floor of the Tower, used solely for his experiments, just below his own apartment. But with the scattered dirty laundry, and empty soda cans, and half-eaten Chinese takeout -- plus the grubby mattress at one corner, with its creased and equally grubby blanket -- it might as well have been his home.

"Yes, sir," a disembodied voice replied, robotic and British.

"Great," he said, walking away from the blueprints and documents on his desk. He approached a system similar to that of plumbing, with its own linking pipes, but half as big as him, and a hell lot heavier. It encircled a table, where between the careful and tiny hands of a carrying device, a small, oblong gem was held. Its tips sharp, it was colorless, opaque and lifeless, barely glinting under the single strand of sunlight creeping from a window with its blinds shut.

The entire set-up was nearly the same as what he had done a few years back, when he created a new element for his arc reactor and the Mark VI. But this time, at the center of the plumbing system, in a clear pipe, it wasn't a clear prism-like rectangular pyramid. Held between two robotic hands was a rock, as big as the palm of a hand and as ordinary as fallen leaves. One edge of it was already facing the oblong gem.

"Okay," Tony said, wearing a pair of goggles and flipping its shades on it. His sight dimmed, less clear, but it was for his protection. After rolling his shoulders back and cracking his knuckles, he gripped the pipe wrench clasping a wheel, similar to that of faucets, but with its size appropriate to the large pipes. It was just above where the rock was. "Start it up!"

"Are you sure about this, sir?" JARVIS said. "All of this is unfamiliar territory. The possible power it could generate is-"

"Contrary to popular belief, JARVIS, I  _do_  know what I'm doing."

There's a pause where it was almost as if the AI had sighed. "Alright, sir. Initiating ..."

A whizzing noise began, soft at first, but growing louder as multiple pulses passed through the pipes, here one blink, and gone the next. It increased in speed after every three-sixty, flashing painfully brilliant light once the pulse entered the clear pipe, hitting the rock.

Tony tightened his grip on the now trembling wrench, making sure to keep it in its position when -- there, a beam of light, the brightest of blues, pierced the vibrating air from the now glowing rock, and landed exactly on the oblong gem, without damage on nearby objects (unlike before).

He made no move, as the gem was hit, hundreds of shades of color, vivid and painful, stabbing the darkness of the room and very much his eyes. The whizzing sound was close to unbearable, like needles pricking his ears, and a hint of smoke tickled his nose. But he stayed in his spot, letting several more pulses pass before shouting, "Shut it down, JARVIS!"

"On it, sir," was the quick reply. The whizzing subsided into the background, as the pulses slowed down. The beam of light blinked, unsteady like a television with poor signal. It retreated to the rock, just as a pulse finished its final three-sixty, hitting the rock with one last flash. It left a soft cloud of smoke -- its stench powerful -- and buzzing silence.

Tony huffed, letting go of the pipe wrench. His hands quivered as color returned to his knuckles. But he let this be, bringing both hands up to remove the goggles, and to throw it aside. With his sight now normal and clear, he could finally see the oblong gem in all its glory.

"Congratulations, sir. You've created ... well, I'm quite unsure what it is."

Tony heaved out a sigh as a smile swung on his lips. He ran a hand through his sweaty locks. "That makes two of us, bud."

It was a million shades of colors all at once, sharp and radiant and intense. In whatever angle an observer stood, it winked, glittering a hundred different hues. It was almost as if someone had stuffed all the rainbows in the world inside this tiny oblong.  _Amazing_ , Tony thought, jumping over the pipes and approaching the gem.

"I do hope you're not planning to give this to Miss Potts," JARVIS said.

Tony hummed, crouching in front of it. Up close, he could see -- could  _feel_ \-- its energy, swirling in its center, like a cotton ball cloud, with its edges pulled -- until it jerked and bumped against the glass.

He jumped back, startled. He paused, staring it for a moment, before it happened again. The energy (the atoms?) jerked, hitting the glass. Frowning, he took a step closer and saw the lack of cracks -- or any damage whatsoever -- from where it had been hit. And it dawned on him: it was as beautiful as it was powerful.

He wiped the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand. "I think this one has an entirely different purpose, JARV," he said.

"What exactly do you plan to do with it, sir?"

He shrugged, narrowing eyes as he observed the swirling energy. "I have no idea. But we'll have to test it out ..." he trailed off, sensing a sudden tug in his mind. He tilted his head to the side, not removing his gaze from the gem. His fingers twitched, itching to touch it --

"Sir?"

Tony blinked, as if stepping out a trance, and stood straight, stepping back from the gem.  _What the hell?_ He lifted his hands, staring at them. What  _was_  that?

" _Sir_?"

He cleared his throat, but didn't look away as his palms came to view. "Yes, JARVIS?"

"Miss Potts has arrived. She requests for your presence upstairs."

"Tell her to come down here," Tony said, jumping over the pipes and approaching his desk.

A pause. Then -- "She said she has brought wine, sir."

His feet changed direction. "On my way."

* * *

"There you are," Pepper said, pouring smooth, blood red liquid from a dark wine bottle onto a glass. The sleeves of her grass green blouse was pushed back to her elbows, and her straight locks were all down, cascading down her neck and brushing her shoulders. "Batman out of his bat cave."

He hummed. "' _Iron Man out of his iron cave_.' Sounds a lot more ridiculous."

"True," she said, lifting her gaze, and as it landed on a strutting Tony Stark, sporting a black t-shirt with sweat stains and simple jeans with grease stains, her nose wrinkled. "You didn't even bother to change, did you?"

He stepped into the kitchen and leaned against the counter at its center, across her, where she poured another glass of wine. His hand immediately grabbed the other glass, raising it to his lips. It left a hot trail down his throat, and a bittersweet flavor on the tip of his tongue. He put the glass down. "Nope."

She rolled her eyes. "How was your day?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "The usual. Worked, tinkered, saving the world -- nothing new."

"Are you doing anything important lately?"

The image of the gem popped in his mind. He looked down at his wineglass. "No, not really."

She hummed as a response, setting the wine bottle down and taking her glass. She shifted it, and watched, as the wine swirled, slow and sluggish around its enclosure. Several strands of her hair fell from her shoulder and curtained her face.

Tony took a moment to observe her as he sipped his wine. Her cheeks seemed hollow, its bones sharp. And the bags under her eyes were darker than the last he's seen them. He glanced down at her blouse. She wore that before, a few weeks back. Her shoulders had easily met the lines separating the torso and the sleeves. Now, the lines fell, nearly down to her biceps.

He approached her, sliding the glass along the counter with him. He brushed the fallen strands away, tucking them behind her ear. "Work hard on you?" His hand glided down to her side, caressing it, and occasionally pausing on her hip.

The edge of her lips twitched to a faint smile. "You have  _no_ idea," she said, raising the glass to her lips. Setting it on the counter, she met his gaze, his face inches away from hers. "Well, actually, you might have."

A smile quickly took hold of his lips, but it vanished just as fast, his expression growing solemn. "C'mon," he said, nudging her hip with his hand. "Take a few days off."

Her lips stretched to a grin, as she shook her head and placed a hand on his shoulder, sliding it down to his arm. "Thank you, Mr. Stark, for your concern. But I can't take an hour off, much less a few days. Especially now," she said, turning to her glass and lifting it to her lips with her other hand.

Tony frowned, shifting his weight to his other leg. "Especially  _now_? Why?"

"I have to go to Washington," she said, returning the glass to the counter. "We'll be having several meetings and conferences next week with a call center. Apparently, some things aren't exactly going as we wanted."

"Hold on - next week?" he said, incredulous, head jerking back. He dropped the hand on her hip. "You'll be gone for an --  _entire_ week?"

She nodded, brows furrowed.

"And when are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow."

He pursed his lips, nodding slowly, as his gaze dropped to his wineglass. Raising it to his lips, he took a long sip, enjoying its burning path, before setting it down. "Okay. I think we can handle that," he said, turning to her.

"I don't doubt it," she said, the edge of her lips quirking up. "But there's another thing--"

He raised a finger, cutting her off, as he took another long swig of wine. Swallowing it, he put the glass back down, and faced her with a nod. "Alright. Shoot."

"A's coming over."

He blinked. "Who's A?"

"Your nibling, Tony. The kid we -- well,  _I_ visit sometimes."

He frowned, remembering the days Pepper would go and visit some kid at some rural neighborhood in New York. "That was my nibling?"

"Yes, Tony. Congratulations. You're an uncle," she said, tone flat, and turned away from him, grabbing the wine bottle and approaching the wine cabinet at the corner of the kitchen.

"Didn't know that."

"I'm not surprised."

"Why is [s/he] coming?" he asked, glancing down as Pepper bent down to slide the wine bottle inside.

"[His/her] parents are going away to a business trip. They need a babysitter." She straightened up, swinging the cabinet's door closed, and turned back to Tony. His gaze snapped back to her face, with raised brows.

"A babysitter? You mean,  _you_ , right?"

Approaching him, a sigh was heaved out of her nose, as her fingers wrapped themselves around the thin waist of her wineglass. "A's coming over this Sunday."

"But you're gone by tomorrow."

She nodded, lifting her glass to her lips and chugging what was left in it.

"And you won't be coming back until next weekend."

She nodded again, setting the glass down.

He blinked, and stared. "You're shitting me."

She shook her head slowly, lips pressed together. "I'm not."

"Pepper," he said, then took a breath. He shuffled his feet, like he's preparing to lecture her. "I am  _the_ Iron Man, and a self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist. Where is  _babysitter_ in that sentence?"

She tilted her head to the side. "You said you weren't doing anything important lately."

"When has  _saving the world_ not been important?" he said. "In fact, with my alter ego,  _I_ should be the one who's busier--"

"You've barely left your workshop downstairs for  _months_ ," she said, tone flat. "Not bothering to clean it -- or even yourself."

"That further proves my point."

She waved a dismissive hand, grabbing her empty wineglass and turning around to approach the dishwasher. "No but's, Tony. A's coming over, and is staying for two weeks."

" _Two weeks?_ "

"Don't worry," she said, opening the dishwasher by its handle and placing the wineglass inside. "I'll be handling the other week."

He opened his mouth.

"No, Tony," she said, exasperated, as she straightened up. "No one else is available, or close enough, to babysit."

He shut it.

"Plus, I owed A's mom a huge favor, so." She shrugged, and returned to him, placing both hands on his chest. Her expression softened, the edges of her lips quirking up ever so slightly. "Relax. A's a good kid. It'll be fine."

He heaved a defeated sigh out of his nose, grabbed his wineglass and took a long swig.

Pepper took that as an OK, nodded and smiled. "Good." She gave his chest a soft pat. "Well, I'm going to bed," she said, turning around to head out of the kitchen.

"What -- no kiss? Or -- hug?" He watched her retreating form, noting her bare feet. Soft, against the cool, smooth floorboards.

"You'll get it after I see A alive and well next week," she said as she turned into a corner.

"Do I look like a murderer to you?"

"Unless you take a bath, change, and get some sleep -- you're starting to."

Tony merely grunted, chucking the sliver of wine left into his mouth before setting the glass in a nearby sink, and headed back to the sanctuary that was his workshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to post; I've already written it, just edited a few more stuff. But I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> There will certainly be more to come. C: Thank you for reading!


	3. one point five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile ...

In another realm – where science and magic was one – the moon has ascended to the glittery heavens, and all was quiet.

But in a bedchamber of its palace, a mattress creaked, as a woman shifted in her sleep. Her hand twitched; feet jerked; and head swivelled, left and right.

Sweat dotted her creased forehead, a few sliding down her face; some into her golden tresses, fanned out over her soft pillow. Similar drops joined it, but they leaked out from her eyes, glistening silver under the gaze of the moonlight.

 _Gasp_ – back arching, her mouth opened wide, lungs trying to grab air. And then – “No!”

Her eyes, red and blotchy, opened, and she was sitting up, her weight leaning on the arm propping her up. Her hand immediately lifted to her chest – rising and falling in quick breaths – as her gaze swept across the room, looking for –

No one.

There was no one.

Her sigh of relief was inaudible, a quiet breath in the darkness of the room.

Her eyes landed on the man beside her, lying down on his right side and snoring softly. The black patch on his right eye was slick and smooth under the moonlight. Long gray locks of his head were swept back to the pillow; that of his beard curling into one another under his chin. Slumber removed the worried lines on his forehead, the crinkling skin under his eyes; brought him ignorance of his surroundings, of reality. Of his wife’s troubles.

 _And that’s how it was going to stay for him_ , she thought. _Ignorance and obliviousness._

With a brush of her thumb on her cheeks, she wiped away the trails the tears left, before resting back on the mattress. It creaked gently under her weight, as she shifted to face the dresser across her. Its mirrors glinted, moonlight striking it.

Shutting her eyes and letting herself drift to sleep weren’t easy tasks. Fear trickled at the back of her mind, the _vivid_ images of her nightmare flashing – threatening and ready to pounce and tackle and _bite_.

 _Too vivid_ , she thought. An uneasiness crawled under her skin; raised the hair on her arms.

Bringing the cotton blanket up to her chin, and tucking it underneath her, she brushed the unease the same way she had brushed her own tears, and forced herself back into darkness.

But, unlike the tears, it wasn’t so easily dismissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUBPLOT TIME. Next chapter will be up in a few weeks. Thank you for reading! C:
> 
> Guess where this is, and who that woman and man is? (; Any idea what dream -- or nightmare, rather -- she may have had?
> 
> (I apologize to those who have subscribed, and saw a lot of updates here. Nothing much changed in the previous chapter, just the titles and numbering. There was a glitch with AO3, changed the sequence of the chapters when I posted the latest chapter. Sorry 'bout that. C: I hope you enjoyed this anyway!)


	4. two

 “Sir.”

Crouching, Tony angled his arm to further insert his hand into the narrow panel, as the screw inside was finally steady. “Hold on _,_ JARVIS,” he said – practically hissed – forehead glistening under the gray florescent lights. He twisted the screw driver, inch by inch so as not to disrupt the stability of the screw and thus unsteadying it to fall on the floor. (Like seven times ago.) The screw settled into its place. Gradually driven inside.

 _Almost there, almost there_. A cold drop of sweat snaked through his locks. Raising the hair on the back of his neck, it slid down into the back of his gray shirt, and joined the growing sticky pool on it.

“I’m afraid I can’t, sir. You have–”

“Let me fucking concentrate.”

“On another occasion, I would gladly have left you alone to drive a screw into a pedestal. But we are presented with an entirely different set of circumstances today, sir – one involving a teenager dawdling in your apartment upstairs.”

Tony whipped his head up, as if the AI stood there in front of him. “What?” His grip on the screw driver loosened slightly and – _clang!_

He glanced down to the glass floor. “Fucking s–” he said, before pursing his lips. He clenched and unclenched his fists, the screw driver in his hand piercing his skin. After a moment or two, he dropped his free hand and picked up the tiny damn thing.

Standing, an ache throbbed around his shoulders, dipping down his back. He arched it, heard the familiar _crack_ of bone under stretched muscle, and rolled his shoulders a few times. Placed the screw on top of the silver pedestal. His hand caressed its side, knocked twice – once – thrice – twice. One of the sides of the pedestal slid down, as the back panel – with its wires and buttons and screws – began to close.

“What’s a kid doing in my apartment?” he asked, glancing over at the twinkling oblong gem on the pedestal. It hovered between two magnets, both of which were connected by slick arms that formed a circular structure. His hand stroked the other side of the stand, felt the familiar heavy part of it somewhere in its center, and pressed. “How did [s/he] gain access?”

“With Miss Potts’s permission, sir,” JARVIS said. “And I daresay she’s a woman ahead of her time when she said you would have forgotten.”

A neon blue line scanned his hand still pressed against the side, then a pause, processing the finger prints – and a holographic keypad manifested, still at the side of the pedestal. He barely glanced down to the keypad; eyes flickering up, narrowed and annoyed. His fingers pushed numbers in a pattern now familiar to them. “Who is it?”

A cerulean blue glow erupted around the circular structure of the gem. It blinked, brilliant and intense – Tony had to momentarily glance away – until it softened, solidified into a three-dimensional circle surrounding the entire structure; then – flickered a few times, and zoomed back into the magnets. The gem floated, peaceful and unfazed. Unprotected.

But _beautiful._ His finger twitched; itched to touch it.

He hissed through his teeth. Better get that screw inside.

“I believe it’s your nibling, sir.”

“What?” Tony turned away, approaching his desk. The itch faded.

“The child you are to babysit,” JARVIS said.

The memory flashed, vivid in his mind – bottle of wine, tired Pepper, business trip, babysitting. The edges of his lips dropped. He threw the screw driver on his desk, grabbed a towel, worn and greasy, and with it, patted the sweat on his forehead, nose and at the back of his neck. “It’s – what? Noon?”

“Close. Five in the evening, sir.”

Tony frowned. _Jesus_ , he thought. His body clock’s certainly adapting fast to the lack of sleep in his schedule. “Do I actually have to meet the kid?”

“According to the sociability in my programming, it is only proper for you to do so. But I’m afraid I’m only an AI, sir.”

A sigh was heaved out through his nose, as Tony threw the towel over his shoulder, and grabbed the screw driver. “Direct the kid to [his/her] room, and tell [him/her] to get some sleep.”

“On it, sir.”¨       

* * *

It was rather anticlimactic to arrive in your uncle’s apartment to find no one in it. The commotion your entire body was making, piling all the nerves in the elevator – clamoring heart; pooling sweat; trembling knees – was for nothing. You weren’t exactly sure what to feel about any of it.

But you were startled to be greeted by a voice, somewhere in the ceiling – male and British. _JARVIS_ , he said his name was. An AI, invented by Tony Stark, himself. You wondered if the name was an acronym; if it stood for anything.

JARVIS had said neither Tony Stark nor Pepper Potts was in the apartment at the moment. He suggested that in the meantime, to get some sleep.

At five PM? Not really. But directions to your room would be nice.

JARVIS was willing to comply – although you doubted he has any choice. Meanwhile, you let yourself take in the entire apartment, even with the conquering excitement for a comfy bed. It was only one floor, the AI had said, with one kitchen with a bar, a dining room; one large living room – which you had stumbled upon once exiting the elevator – three bathrooms; two study rooms – one for Mr. Stark, the other for Miss Potts – and one master bedroom (for both of them); and three guest bedrooms – one of which was yours.

Upon reaching it, you barely contained yourself. Dropping the luggage and tossing the backpack aside, you threw yourself on the bed, lying on your stomach, and let its soft pillows and blankets swallow you whole – and after thanking JARVIS,  sleep was quick to follow.

* * *

_Ring, ring, ring._

“Sir?”

“Who is it, JARVIS?” Tony asked, rising from his crouching position and knocking against the side of the pedestal a few times. The back panel began to close in response.

“It’s Miss Potts.”

“Pick it up,” he said, moving to the other side and pressing its center with his entire hand. A neon line scanned it, before the keypad appeared once again.

 _Click_.

“Tony?” Pepper’s voice echoed, loud and clear in the entire floor. Sweet and lovely to his ears. And a bit panicky. “Is A there? [S/he] isn’t answering [his/her] phone. Neither are [his/her] parents.”

“The kid’s here, Pep. Don’t worry,” he said, tapping in the code on the keypad. “Don’t know about the parents, though.”

“Oh – good. That’s good,” she said, relieved. “The parents are probably in the plane right now. What time did [s/he] arrive?”

“Uh –” He paused, frowning as mental images were flickered through, searching for one with the time. When was the last time he even looked at a clock?

“Five in the evening, Miss Potts,” the AI supplied.

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Pepper said, tone flat. He could imagine her looking up at the ceiling, exasperated. The image brought one edge of his lips to quirk up to a smirk. “What’s [s/he] doing?”

“Currently at bed,” JARVIS said. “Ever since [s/he] arrived.”

Her sweet chuckle resonated in the dark workshop, tingling the skin at the back of Tony’s neck. “[S/he] must be tired. Probably the travel.”

“Yeah, well – the kid isn’t the only one,” Tony said, watching as the blue glow expanded from the magnets, blinking once and momentarily blinding him. It eventually relaxed to a lighter hue, solidifying, and then – _please, please, please_ , he pleaded with pursed lips – it shimmered, particles separating, then reconnecting, like pieces of a complex puzzle. Then, it dissolved, and was gone. _Protected_.

He grinned, wide, with teeth in two perfect rows.

A snort came from the other line, catching his attention. “How can you _not_ be tired, when you barely leave your workshop? Do you even know what time it is – what _day_ it is?”

“Of course,” he said, as if affronted. He turned away and glanced at a digital clock on his desk. “It’s six-thirty PM on a Sunday.”

“You read that on your computer.”

He snorted. “No.” Pause. “There’s a clock on my desk.”

Her sigh – a soft breath brushing her lips – basically said _I am so done_.

“Pep,” Tony said, growing serious. “Relax. Don’t worry about us. Just – focus on work.”

“I can’t promise that. Especially with you there. Alone with [him/her].”

He turned away from the pedestal, tapping one end of the screw driver on his free hand, as he approached his desk. “What’s the worst case scenario?”

“That’s … a _lot_ of scenarios.”

“You’re insulting me blow by blow here.”

Her chuckle vibrated through the line, contentment trickling into his chest at the fact that he was the reason behind the soft laugh. “I know. I’m not sorry.”

A breath pushed out of his nose, like a snort. He placed the screw driver on the table, hands pressed onto it as he leaned forward. “Well – pick one of those scenarios.”

“Um – both of you are dead by the time I get there?”

His brows knitted, mouth twisting to a frown. “How does that even happen?”

“Aliens can travel to our planet,” she said, flat as if stating a fact. “And you’re Iron Man.”

He cleared his throat, noting her point. “But what are the chances of that happening, with me just staying here the entire week and letting the kid do whatever the hell [s/he] wants upstairs?”

She sighed. He could imagine her shoulders slumping. “I don’t know, Tony …”

“Exactly. We don’t know. We could be dead by the end of the week, or we could be alive and living mutually. Either way, focusing on the former isn’t going to help you, or any of us. So, why don’t you stop thinking about that, and finally focus on work? My company can’t run by itself.”

A pause passed between the lines. He could picture her pursing her lips, forehead wrinkled. His finger twitched, and an urge to wipe those worried lines away, to press a kiss onto them, struck him. He curled his hands, fingernails digging into his palms.

“Alright,” she said, defeat tinting her tone. “But on one condition.”

A groan came from the back of his throat, his head hanging. But he lifted it, running a hand through his face, as he straightened up and arched his back. “What is it?”

“Take care of A – properly. Protect [him/her]. [S/he]’s not going to like it – not going to like _you_ – but it’s for [his/her] good. A is … not at the best place right now. A lot of tension at home, and at school. Just, please, be patient with [him/her], Tony. And _behave_.”

He scoffed. “You sound like my nanny.”

“I _am_ your nanny. Slash mother, slash girlfriend.”

“That is an awful description of your role in our relationship. Also a bit disgusting in my part.”

“Do we have a deal?”

Tony pressed his lips together, falling back on his chair. It creaked under his weight, tilting back slightly. He placed his arms on the arm rests, one hand brushing his goatee, thick and bushy under his fingertips. _Should get a trim_ , a thought said somewhere at the back of his head.

“Oh! And you get some sleep. Rest. Leave the workshop for a few days. Or several hours, at least. Better yet, hang out with A.”

“I thought there was only one condition.”

“ _Tony_.”

He sighed. “Alright, alright – that last bit is a stretch, but,” he said, pausing. His tongue flickered out, licking his lips. “Fine.”

“Great!” she said, delighted. “I’m not going to worry – or, at least, try to – and you’re going to take care of A, and yourself.”

“Or, at least, try to.” He pushed his chair forward, closer to his desk, and grabbed a piece of paper somewhere beneath a pile of documents scattered around the table.

“I’m hoping for the best,” she said. “A’s favorite cereal is in the fridge by the way; and I bought [him/her] some clothes. They’re in [his/her] room now, and–”

“Pepper.”

“Okay, okay,” she said. Paused to breathe. “Alright. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you.”

 _Click._ It rang, hollow, in the floor, as silence settled.

“Well, you are most certainly cared for, sir,” JARVIS said.

The edge of his lips twitched to a small smirk. “She’s my nanny,” he said. Then, paused and stilled in his sitting position. He stood, an abrupt movement in the otherwise quiet area, and approached the elevator.

* * *

Bright light. Piercing your eyelids, and conjuring an immediate headache at the back of your head. Your features wrinkled, and you dived further into the blankets. Darker now, but the light had left their blinking bright shadows on your eyelids. And they _hurt_.

“Good evening, A,” a familiar male, British voice said, before stating something about numbers in the evening, and being a Sunday, and cool breezes. You could hear some kind of soft clanking, like retreating blinds on windows.

You frowned. _Retreating blinds? British males?_ Where were y – _oh_. It rushed back to you: the comfortable cushion of a car’s backseat, the chilly air of the early evening, Mom dressed in gray, an extravagant lobby, Mom’s hurried kiss goodbye, a silver elevator, a dark and empty apartment, a voice in the ceiling – _JARVIS_ –

“JARVIS – is that you?” you asked, voice slightly muffled with the blankets.

“Yes, it is. And I apologize for interrupting your slumber, but Mr. Stark requests–”

You opened your eyes wide, and instantly regretted it, the bright light stabbing your vision almost as painfully as a knife would. (Not that you knew how that felt.) It apparently came from the ceiling, from the four deep circles at its corners.

Groaning, you turned to lie on your back, and upon facing the ceiling, looked away, blinking fast, a hand lifted to block the blinding light bursting out of the four deep circles at the corners. God, they felt brighter than the stars glinting above the towers of New York City.

“Pardon, JARVIS?” you said. Hearing your own voice – coarse and dry – you tried to clear your throat. Ended up with a few massive coughs that could have belonged to someone having an asthma attack.

“Mr. Stark requests for your presence in the kitchen.”

Your lips frowned, along with all your other features. You never, once in your life, thought you’d hear that sentence. It felt suspicious. “Why?” you asked, a tongue flickering out to lick your rough lips, and swallowed some saliva, to further moisten your throat.

“Dinner is ready.”

Oh. “What time is it?”

“Half past seven in the evening.”

 _Wow_. You certainly caught up with sleep now.

Rubbing the tiredness off your eyes, you slowly sat up, and stretched your arms, arching your back. Felt the exhausted ache of travel in your bones, and the pain of lack of rest – like a thumb being pressed, drilled, into your forehead. “Be there in a minute,” you said through a yawn.

You scooted to the edge of the bed, and resting your feet – or sneakers, you realized you were still wearing – on the carpeted floor, you rose. After asking JARVIS the location of a towel and of the nearest bathroom, you left the room.

* * *

Now with face washed off of saliva and sleep, you were heading towards the kitchen, walking through an empty hallway, one side of the walls glass. It offered once again the view of New York, probably its west side. You were beginning to think that most of the walls of this floor – this _building_ – was made of glass. It wasn’t helping your nerves in any way.

 _I’m meeting_ him, you thought. Sweat matted your hair, dampening your already shaky palms when you ran a hand through them. Your knees were trembling; your heart thundering loud in your ears, and quick in your veins. And the image of a man – towering, with his looming shadow over you – popped into your mind every time you blinked.

You shut your eyes, and pressed the balls of palm into them. Stars appeared, and twinkled, momentarily pushing the image away.

But then, when you brought your arms down, you were already there. Standing in the kitchen – leaning against the counters with their bronze tops and in front of the sink, just across you, a few more counters with bar stools in between – was _him_.

You caught a breath.

Not as sharply dressed as the last time you saw him. (Both in television and in real life.) A gray t-shirt, wrapped tight around his biceps and chest, but hung and fell from there. Dark patches of sweat, around its collar, beneath the armpits, dotted his chest. The material seemed thick enough to conceal the supposedly glowing arc reactor. Plus a greasy towel on his shoulder.

But then, the face. The goatee was there, a bit thicker, as well as the hair, flat and lifeless, and the arching brows. Tiny hairs, gray and black, prickled the edge of his jaw, connecting the hair on the head, and on the chin. Skin creased, especially around the forehead, cheeks, and below the eyes – where dark and heavy crescents have settled. They both emphasized and dulled the color of his eyes – a deep brown, akin to that of freshly ploughed earth, raw and a bit reddish.

He didn’t look good. Tired, and undoubtedly lacking sleep. Almost _human_. (Not exactly what you’d imagine for a first meeting.)

You probably didn’t look any better yourself. (And perhaps, never will.)

Leaning back on the counter near the sink, he lifted a crimson mug – _To My Iron Man_ , it said in white letters, beside the mask of said hero, lined with gold – of what you assumed was coffee towards you. “Took you long enough.”

Well, the hint of mocking in his voice was still there.

You blinked. Felt your throat was dry. Cleared it, and opted for silence. (Not that you could even give him a response. The racket your heart was making and your trembling limbs were making too much noise in your head.)

“What?” he said. “You look like you’ve seen God.” The edge of his lips was perked up, brows knitted – a mixture of amusement and confusion.

 _More like a ghost_ , you thought, swallowing the growing lump in your throat. But you kept your lips sealed, tight and pressed together.

Gaze falling on the center counters, you saw a bowl of milk and – you realized was – your favorite cereal. _Cereal, for dinner?_ You thought, frowning. Well, it’s not like you hadn’t had this before. You assumed this was more Aunt Pepper’s doing than his.

Approaching it, you took a seat on one of the bar stools, and picked up the spoon from the bowl, twirling it around, the cereal following the movement. The cereal’s color tinted the milk, blending with it, as it softened.

“So,” he said. Shuffled his feet. “You’re my nibling.”

You glanced over at him, grabbed a spoonful of the cereal and placed it into your mouth. “Yep,” you murmured, in the midst of chewing.

But he managed to hear, cocking a brow. “You don’t sound so grateful.”

The milk was cold, the cereal a bit lumpy, as they glided down your throat. “Should I be?”

“Well, you have _my_ blood,” he said, lifting the mug to his lips. “Not many people have that.”

“I’m not like many people,” you said, eyes on your cereal.

He huffed. “I’m starting to see that.”

 _You should_ , you thought, and scooped for more milk and cereal, setting it on your tongue.

He simply turned away from you, and faced the coffee machine, pouring more into his mug.

 _Coffee?_ you thought, brows knitting, _at this time of the day?_ Huh.

“Who’re your parents?”

You stopped, mid-chew. “You don’t know?”

He glanced at you, over his shoulder, incredulous. “Why else would I ask?”

You frowned, but stated the name of your parents anyway. Then, resumed your chewing.

He turned, still against the counter near the sink, and took a long swig from the coffee. “Your dad’s my cousin,” he said, seemingly more to himself than you.

“I know,” you said. “He always made sure I’m aware.” _Crunch, crush, crunch_. The cereal, broken into tiny bits to be swallowed.

He arched a brow, but didn’t ask. “Pepper told me that’s your favorite cereal,” he said, filling in the lull of conversation.

After swallowing, you took another scoop – and then, frowned, the spoon half-way into your mouth. “Where _is_ Aunt Pepper?” you asked.

Both brows were up now. “ _Aunt_ Pepper?”

“My mom said she’d be here.”

“Hold on – she’s not even _related_ to you,” he said.

You raised a brow. “My own _mother_ isn’t related to me?”

“You know what I mean, kid,” he said, brows furrowed and eyes glinting with a threat.

You scoffed. _She would have been a better relative than you are_ , you thought, tempting to speak it aloud. But shoving the spoon into your mouth, you pushed it back. “Aren’t you two married yet?” you asked, deciding to go that way instead.

“Uh – no,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Not really.” His eyes fell on his mug, twirling it as if it was wine instead of coffee.

You raised both brows up, but said nothing, as your chewing filled the silence. _Crunch, crush, crunch_. With the occasional _clank_ of silverware on porcelain.

“So,” you said after swallowing. “Where is she?”

He raised the mug to his lips, and took a lengthy sip, clearing his throat once he lowered it, just above his waist. “Washington.”

Your eyes widened, jerking back as you met his gaze. “Washington? Why?”

“Business trip.”

Your heart froze. _Business trip_. It almost felt like everyone’s leaving you to be alone with the very man shadowing your life. But an inkling of hope trickled underneath your skin, sparking your heart back to life. “When is she coming back?”

“Next weekend,” he said. The corners of his lips were turned down, nose wrinkled at his mug. Like he himself wasn’t happy about it either.

You pursed your lips. _A week_. Seven days from now. Okay, you could handle that. Maybe. Just avoid Tony the entire time, until Aunt Pep gets back, and everything will be alright. Next week will be a lot more fun with Aunt Pepper around. You and your uncle will leave unscathed. Hopefully.

Nodding, you turned back to your cereal, and resumed eating, slower now. But then you remembered – no one was here when you had arrived earlier this evening. So – “When did she leave?” you asked.

“Yesterday,” he said, turning towards the coffee maker and pouring more into his mug.

 _Fuck_ , you thought. _So close._

“You’re starting school, right?”

You perked up at him, blinked once. Then, nodded, returning to your cereal. “Next week, yeah.”

“What year?”

“Senior.”

He cocked a brow. “You’re eighteen?”

“ _Turning_ eighteen.” You kept your eyes on your food, lifting a spoon to your lips.

He grunted, frowning. “Short for a seventeen-year-old,” he said under his breath.

 _And you’re short for a forty-year-old_ was a tempting response, but you swallowed it back.

“How are you doing so far in school?” he asked. He leaned back on the sink, a hand propping him up. He raised his mug, and took a sip.

Your stomach lurched; chest tightened; heartbeat quickened. For a second there, he almost sounded like your own father – during dinner, after coming home from work. It would be silent at the dining table, and the question would slip away from his lips. And it would hang there, in the air, at the center of everyone, but you’d feel its weight, heavy on your shoulders. Knowing – even before you replied – that your father would not be satisfied.

Blinking back to reality, your tongue flickered out, licking your upper lip. You kept your gaze on your cereal, considering your response. You doubted he’d appreciate _B minuses and C’s_ as a response. He might even react the same way your father did: annoyed and frustrated with your inability to act like a proper Stark. _School hasn’t even started yet_ was also a tempting response, but in the end, you opted for shrugging a shoulder.

He blinked, one brow raised, but didn’t push it. Swallowed whatever question lingered on his tongue with a swig of his coffee.

You dared a glance at him, eyes quick and curious. An inquiry nudged your mind, pushing you to ask. _What harm would it do, anyway?_ you thought. He was _the_ Iron Man – the greatest living Stark. He was probably fearless. “What was–” you paused, hearing the roughness of your voice. Cleared your throat. “What was it like?”

His eyes shifted towards yours, and locked, lips turning down. He lowered his mug to waist level. “What was what like?”

“Going through that wormhole,” you said. Eyes bigger now, ready to consume any response. It was the one thing that captured your curiosity, your attention, other than the appearance of the entire Avengers team.

His gaze dropped to his mug, lips sealed tight as he took a quick breath. His free hand drifted towards the counter behind him, and propped it there. “I’d rather not talk about that.”

“Oh.” You blinked, and cleared your throat, eyes returning to your limp cereal. “I was just – wondering. What it must have been like. And what you saw. Lots of rumors about it, in the internet, you know–”

“I _said_ ,” he said, through gritted teeth. His hand was gripping the edge of the counter now, his knuckles white. He looked at you, and you looked back, and his eyes were steel. Hard and screaming _back off_. “I’d rather not talk about that.”

And it was final.

You pressed your lips together, bobbed your head – tiny, and almost imperceptible – and returned to your meal, bringing the spoon of cereal to your lips.

Silence settled in the room, tinted by a soft and slow breathing. Like he was gathering himself.

“Okay then,” your uncle said, and cleared his throat, loud and clear.

You dared a quick glance at him.

“Do whatever the hell you want. Just don’t – damage anything. If you do, you’ll be repairing it, or paying for it. And I’m sure your old man isn’t going to appreciate that,” he said, eyes on his mug as he lifted it for what seemed to be his final swig.

 _Yep, he won’t_ , you agreed, already imagining your father’s twisted features staring down at you. You simply grunted.

“And don’t go out. You can only stay here, at this floor.”He placed his mug in the sink – _clang_ – as if that would wash itself. “Alright,” he said, turning around to the archway out of the kitchen. “You … have a good night, or whatever.”  He proceeded out of the room, his footsteps echoing behind him.

 _Ding!_ You heard the elevator as it closed – momentarily wondered where he could possibly be going – then, felt a shaky sigh of relief brushing the skin of your upper lip, limbs relaxing.

Lifting a hand to your forehead, you wiped the thin sheet of sweat on it, and returned to your cereal. You blinked at it, the edges of your lips pulled down. _If Aunt Pepper left yesterday_ , you thought, staring at the bowl. _Then, who …?_ You jerked back with a realization: he prepared this for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yiiikes. Look at all the weeks that's passed. Ehehehe. I'm so sorry for the late update! I'm unfortunately getting more and more swamped with school and my extracurricular activities, sigh. But anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! It's longer! And you got to enter the Avengers Tower and meet your uncle. How does it feel? c:
> 
> To anyone still reading this, thank you for your patience, understanding, support and dedication! You are lovely. I hope you have a great and wonderful day ahead of you, whatever time it is you're reading this, lol.


	5. two point five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile ...

A soft _knock_ on the thick double doors, and the queen of Asgard lifted her gaze from her vanity table.

“Come in,” she said.

The silence of the room was punctured by the sounds of tiny metal pieces moving, and the door swung open, to reveal two of her handmaidens.

“You called for me, My Queen?” A thin lady stepped forward, passed through the threshold. Brown locks braided and pinned around her head, her face creased further with age, as a frown graced her features.

“Yes, Eir,” Frigga said, rising from her seat. “Please – take a seat.” She gestured to a love seat close to the dresser, its elegant features swirling and soft. Eir approached it and sat. Hands folded on her lap, dark dress tucked neatly underneath her.

Frigga turned to the fair blonde by the door, lips curled up to a smile. “Thank you, Fulla.”

The young lady nodded. Didn’t step back yet. Lips pressed together, she opened her mouth. “My Queen, do you –” she paused, lips folded. Tried again. “May I –”

Frigga’s smile broadened. “It’s quite alright. You may stay.”

Fulla beamed, relieved, and stepped inside, the hem of her white dress swishing with her as she turned around. Hand on the handle, ready to shut the door, when –

“Hold on.”

She paused, head swivelling to face Frigga with furrowed brows. “My Queen?”

Frigga glanced over at her, but focused on the clear, marble hallway outside. “Gná?”

Silence.

“I know you’re there, my Messenger,” Frigga said, kind and gentle. “It is alright to come out.”

A few beats. Then, a girl stepped out from one of the columns, hands twisting in front of her. An arm on her waist, she bowed, stiff in her armor. Crimson tresses fell from her shoulder, veiled one side of her face. “I apologize, Your Majesty,” she said, voice clear and husky. Straightened herself, face flushed. “I overheard Fulla and Eir, and I was–”

“I understand, child,” Frigga said, thin lips smiling. “ Come in. Join us.”

The redhead’s eyes widened. “Are you sure, my–”

“With my maidens, I have no doubts.”

Gná bobbed her head, cheeks pinking. Her long, sinewy legs were brisk to cross the hall and the threshold of the master bed chamber. She turned to Fulla, with a grateful smile, as the door closed behind her. The blonde merely nodded with a tiny smile, gaze lowered as she moved towards the love seat and sat beside Eir. Already comfortable, the old woman crossed her legs, wrung her hands around her knees.

Frigga turned to the messenger, gestured to the chair in front of her vanity table. Gná was quick to comply, rigid in her seat. In front of them, their queen settled on the edge of her massive king-sized bed, blankets silky and a lush red sinking as she folded her hands on her lap.

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, and onto the bed. It hit her perfectly styled tresses, its golden hue glowing like a halo. But her features, once soft and motherly, sharpened, their shadows jagged and long. She seemed thinner. Cheeks sucked in and hollow, her complexion a worrying pallor. The three maidens exchanged concerned glances.

Frigga cleared her throat. “I assume Fulla has explained the situation?” she said, glancing between Eir and Gná.

Both maidens nodded as a response.

“Good,” she said, head bobbing, satisfied. The corners of her lips lifted, tiny and shaky. She turned to the oldest maiden, skin lined with the hundreds and thousands of years of experience, and raised a brow. “Eir.”

The woman jutted her chin forward, perking up. Her pale pink lips folded onto one another, the lip pursing of one bearing disappointing news. “My Queen – I … I’m afraid I’m not entirely certain if there’s something I could do about this.”

For a moment, the queen’s bottom lip quivered, but she kept her composure, hands still. Gná glanced over to Fulla, who caught her gaze immediately, their messages of worry sent. “What makes you unsure?” Frigga asked.

“I am only a single Valkyrie. There are so much more out there, and not all of them would like this … idea.”

Frigga nodded, understood. Features lined in concentration, she opened her mouth to speak –

“However, my Queen – if I may …?” Eir arched a brow.

Her Majesty lifted her hand, and waved, tiny, a graceful gesture to go on.

Eir nodded, grateful. “We, the Valkyries, are all maidens of the All-father. If you wish, we could–”

“No,” Frigga said, firm. Her entire body tensed, shoulders taut and back stiff. “Odin must _never_ know of this. It will only make things worse.” Her gaze swept the three ladies, eyes flashing, tinted with authority – and a bit of desperation.

Glances were once again exchanged among the three, but all bobbed their heads in agreement. Albeit uneasily.

Frigga returned the gesture, shoulders lowering and hands splaying on her lap. Calmer. She blinked, meeting Eir’s gaze. Eyes tender, but watered by fear. “Please. Do all you can. Just …” she paused. Hand fluttered to her lips at the sob rising from her throat.

“My Queen–” Fulla was already standing. In a few quick steps, she was there by the queen’s side, a gentle hand on her arm. Gná’s eyes were wide, shaken at the sight of their queen, usually so composed, now crumbling.

A sigh heaved out of Eir’s thin nose, sympathetic. “I understand, My Queen. I will do my best. But you have to understand this as well.”

The queen and her two maidens averted their gazes towards the Valkyrie, features frowning in inquiry.

“Understand what?” Gná asked, brows furrowing.

Eir swept her gaze across the women, grim. The air stilled. “Where there is death, there will always be death.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (oooh, what's going oooon?)


	6. three

_Thud!_

You opened your eyes, nose creasing in irritation. Nothing but darkness. What –

Muffled murmurs, then – _crash!_

You sat up, eyes wide and heart hammering. Vision adjusted, you recognized the steel walls of the room glinting from the stars outside, hovering above the intimidating towers of New York City –

More muffled murmurs, slurring together. _Drunk_ slurs.

 _Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit._ Was someone –

_Thud!_

You froze. Someone’s definitely out there. _But who?_ you thought, throwing your legs onto the other side of the bed, feeling the soft carpet tickling the soles of your bare feet.

Scooting further forward, and – a zap of cool metal on your fingertips. Your head spun to the source, eyes wider than platters and heart thundering like horses on a race track – to find your laptop, screen still up but apparently dead, beside you. Images rushed in, of an entire day spent alone, with only this distracting contraption as company, and the AI of the building.

Wait! AI – “JARVIS?” you called out, a hushed whisper in the darkness.

A beat of silence. Then –

“A?”

A moment of stillness, limbs frozen and heart drumming quick in your ears – and then, the synthetic British accent registered in your mind; and you breathed out a thin sigh, shoulders lowered, relieved. “JARVIS, hey.”

“Were you woken?”

“Yeah,” you said, turning to your laptop, and pressing space bar. Light burst – like the explosion of a nuclear bomb – stabbing the darkness and your eyes. You lifted a hand to block the blinding glare.

“I apologize your slumber was interrupted –”

Blinking, you forced yourself to look, narrowed eyes dropping at the corner of the screen. _3:09AM. Tuesday._

“But I’m afraid your aid is needed outside. Immediately.”

The corners of your lips dropped, gaze shifting up. “What’s going on?”

“The nightmares have consumed him. I’ve done all I can, but he isn’t waking – you have to –”

_“N-no – no – NO!”_

Already up and sprinting, you were quick to reach the living room, bare feet skidding to a stop on the slick marble floor and –

Your stomach dropped.

Glass was everywhere – tiny and broken and dark, scattered around the lush carpet. They winked under the streams of moonlight poking out of the window blinds. The coffee table was angled different, as if pushed away. A cork rolled out from underneath it.

Tony was halfway down the couch, a leg and an arm brushing the carpet. His body was trembling, as though being electrified, back arched and hands clenched, veins throbbing on his arms. (And oh god, he’s still wearing that gray shirt.) His lips moved, and his head jerked, rapid and sudden like electric jolts. Quiet murmurs – slurring together, almost nonsensical – poured out of his mouth.

Finding a nearby pair of flip-flops, you grabbed them, shoving your feet onto the damn things. It slapped the marble floor, and soon muffled by the carpet, as in a few steps, you were by his side, hands pressed on his shoulders to keep him down.

“Nnnnno, nnno …” His brows were knitted, a thin sheet of sweat gleaming on his forehead, hair slick and matted down. “Peeeepper, Pepper …”

“Tony! Tony!” The stench of old wine tinged the air, as his mouth opened wider. His taut muscles underneath your palms tightened further. “Wake up!”

It didn’t stop.

 _Different approach, different approach,_ you thought, scanning the room. Your gaze fell on one of the fallen pillows, and the childhood image of your mother beside you, arms wrapped around your quivering shoulders, hushing reassurances. _It was just a dream. I’m here, you’re here, we’re safe._

Glancing at the corner of your eye, you grabbed one of the throw pillows at the foot of the couch, and lifting his head, slid yourself beneath him, the pillow cushioning his head on your lap. _Let’s hope this works._

One hand trailed over to his hair, plowing through it like fingers digging into sand, gentle and tender. Unbothered by the slick stickiness of sweat, and its tingly coldness on hot skin. Your other hand stayed on his shoulder, a firm thumb pressing reassuring circles into it. Loosening the tight strings beneath the shivering muscle.

“It’s alright, Tony,” you said, bending over his head. “You’re safe now, you’re okay …”

A few beats, then – you caught a breath – his eyelids fluttered open.

“Tony, Tony,” you said, eager with the change. “Hey, hey, breathe. Breathe. No one is going to hurt you …”

But it was only halfway through. His pupils, dilated, were twitching, and he stared above, out of focus and vacant. Lips still flinching out senseless murmurs.

“Pepperrr, Peppeeeer –” They were like breaths hitching, talking without breathing. “Nnno, nooo –” Soft but tight, like fear held his lungs in their hand, squeezing then releasing, squeezing then releasing –

“Pepper is safe, Tony. _You’re_ safe. You’re alright now …”

It took a while, but finally his breathing slowed, and his eyelids lowered, gradual and sleepy. The mutterings faded, fists slackening to open palms. The tension in his entire body ebbed away, a certain calmness settling onto tired bones. Soon, he was snoring, the soft grunts of a man lost in an aimless dream.

And – with the exhaustion of a parent up all night tending to an infant – you were too.

* * *

Light was kinder this time. Softer, as it bloomed on your eyelids, like the whispers of a mother, shaking you awake for an early morning journey to the province. And then – a distant, familiar clanking, somewhere far around you.

Eyes opening, you were greeted by an entirely different setting from your bedroom. You blinked, lifting your head from the back of – the couch?

And it all returned, like a waterfall gushing down on you. Three AM in the laptop; thuds and drunk slurs; glass everywhere, and – Tony!

Back straight, you looked around the living room, with eyes wide and panic rising in your chest –

Empty.

No one’s here.

The edges of your lips fell, just as piercing pain sliced the nape of your neck. You stilled, brows knitted and teeth clenched. _Fuck_ , you thought, moving your head inch by inch forward, each movement sending needles down your spine. _Never sleep sitting down._

Once your gaze was straight ahead, something cottony and smooth glided down your arms. Looking down – ouch! – a blanket, thick and worn, pooled around your lap, the pillow from last night still there, with only a dent of where Tony’s head had rested.

Huh.

Your gaze shifted further down. Half of the blanket’s length flowed down onto the carpet, curling around your flip-flops. Tender sunlight bathed the room with a friendly yellow, lengthening the shadows, and not a single shard of glass winked.

And when your gaze landed on the coffee table – now shifted to its original position – your eyes went wider than the bowl of now lump cereal set on it, next to a carton of milk and the box of your favorite cereal.

Throat a little dry, you swallowed, a loud shove down your throat, as if you were swallowing this entire scene before you, and not your saliva.

A question sat on your tongue, heavy and thick. Your eyes glanced up at the ceiling, considered asking the AI, even when you were pretty sure who prepared this.

You weren’t too sure what it all meant, though; or if you even wanted to know.

* * *

 The question was still there, when he arrived for dinner, carrying plastic bags full of Chinese food.

“Didn’t know what you liked,” he said, when you were summoned to the kitchen, watching with wide eyes as he removed each dish from the bag. “So I ordered everything.”

“You could have just asked,” you said, glancing at him with furrowed brows.

He returned the stare with a deadpanned look.

You pursed your lips, shifted your gaze to the table. “We can’t finish all of this.”

“There are a few hundred thousand hungry human beings outside. They can probably help.”

But another question sat on your tongue, as noodles were sucked into puckered lips, salty and scrumptious. You glanced over to the other man, as his greased fingers worked with the chopsticks, quick and effortless, and almost mechanical – grab the food, put it in mouth, chew; grab, put in, chew, repeat. His shirt was black this time, but was as equally grimy as the gray one he wore for the past two days.

It flooded back – the taut and shivering muscle; the odor of wine and sweat; _Pepperrrr, nnnnno_ –

You blinked, and found him staring right back at you, one brow cocked.

“What?” he said, through a mouthful of dumplings.

The words were ready on your tongue, and your jaw was down, waiting for the question to roll off it, off your shoulders and off your mind. But something flickered in his eyes, a tiny crease folding in between his brows.

You shut your mouth and shook your head. Swallowed the lacerated noodles, along with the heavy words, and their question marks.

Maybe next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Yeaaar! Here is my gift to all of you still loyal and committed to this fanfiction. C: I'm so sorry for the late updates! It has been incredibly busy here, and it's going to be loaded in the next three months because of school. So expect slower updates. But they will come soon, no worries! C:
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed your holidays, and these two new chapters! I must admit, this is one of my favorite chapters, lol; oh, I just love vulnerability, ehehe. What do you think is going on with Tony? Keep in mind, this was after the first Avengers movie, and before the third Iron Man film. c; How do you feel, after consoling Tony that way? Would you be willing to ask him what's going on with him?


End file.
